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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24879511">gone with the sin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xnowimnothing/pseuds/xnowimnothing'>xnowimnothing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HIM (Band), Motionless in White (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Bathtubs, Fluff, M/M, Nudity, Rating May Change, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:53:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24879511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xnowimnothing/pseuds/xnowimnothing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ricky has been a fan of HIM since forever, and it's a dream come true when Motionless gets to open for them on tour.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ricky "Horror" Olson/Ville Valo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I stopped questioning my ideas a long time ago<br/>I wrote this ~a month ago but I was too ashamed to post it because 1. I doubted someone would give a fuck 2. I deep down knew it had to do with my current, totally random, hyperfixation with him that hasnt much to do with the fandom. but fuck it it's in English and I made a vow to myself that every fanfiction I write in English has to go here<br/>also, I think I lost my credibility back when I started writing about Tim Skold fucking reader to assert property didn't I?? I'm so proud of my body of work</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ricky has been listening to HIM since he was a kid, but it hasn't been long since he got the <em> heartagram </em> tattoo behind his ear. </p><p>This winter tour makes a lot of sense. HIM is a source of inspiration and an important part not only of Ricky's life, but also the other guys'; it's Ville who pushed Ricky and Chris to become musicians, among others. Musically, maybe the influence isn't that obvious; Motionless' riffs are way more loud and aggressive, Chris' voice an angry, desperate scream, whereas Ville's voice is sweeter, a caress to the soul. </p><p>Ricky isn't worried for the success of the tour. It's gonna be great, no matter the stylistic differences between the two bands - even if Motionless screams and HIM caresses. It's gonna be a complete experience, with dissonance and assonances, vehemence and gentleness, hate and love; it's gonna be whole. The <em> heartagram </em>means this, doesn't it? </p><p>The tour isn't the problem, nor is it HIM per se. As he waits sitting backstage the first night, gaze low on his hands in his lap, Ricky knows that it's Ville who's causing the knot in his throat. </p><p>Ricky has never met Ville. He saw him live multiple times, sure, but he never got the chance to talk to him. To look him in the eyes. </p><p>Chris is standing across from Ricky, warming his voice up; Vinny is painting his neck black in front of the lit mirror. The others are elsewhere. Except for Chris' vocal exercises, it's quiet. And Ricky hates it, because all it does is amplify the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. </p><p>Ricky is gonna meet Ville, and it's gonna happen tonight. It's gonna be a crucial moment. </p><p>A myth can be created or destroyed in a second, with a word, even a false one, or a gesture. A myth is like porcelain, it cracks rather easily. And Ricky doesn't want his image of Ville Valo to crack; he's been his idol since he was a kid, the person he's always tried to be, emulate, recreate. His gaze moves to his left arm at the thought; the skin is covered in black paint, but there's an unfinished sleeve underneath. Ville has a similar sleeve, and Ricky would be lying if he denied thinking of him when he first started it. He'd be lying, if he claimed he wore beanies because they're cool, or scarves because he's cold. </p><p>But who is Ville Valo, in reality? Ricky doesn't know, and maybe he hoped he would never find out. Touring with HIM was the dream of his life. But now that he's in the same building as them, he just wishes Ville could remain that beautiful, mysterious singer with the warm, comforting voice on the other side of the screen. Unreachable. He just wishes those emerald eyes would never meet his, timid and scared, and that that intoxicating voice would never address him. </p><p>“I'm in the bathroom,” Ricky announces, getting to his feet. “Come look for me when we're up.” </p><p>Vinny looks at him for a second, nods, then goes back to his make up. </p><p>Ricky breathes deeply when he closes the door behind him. He walks over to the bathroom, thinking of cool water on his face as the only reasonable form of relief. A cigarette would help too, actually, but he left his pack in the dressing room… </p><p>The handle to the bathroom lowers before he can even grasp it, and when he finds himself right in front of Ville, the blood in his veins freezes. </p><p>“Oh, sorry,” Ville says, his neutral expression turning into a smile. “Ricky, right?”  </p><p>Ricky forces himself to breathe; it's impossible for him to look into those green eyes, but he can't make himself look like a jerk either. Shit. </p><p>“Y-yeah.” </p><p>Ricky <em> knows </em> he should be saying something else, he knows he should be lifting his gaze and looking him in the face, even though those eyes are really, really beautiful, even though that deep voice makes all his guts vibrate. But he just can't. </p><p>“Nice to meet you. I'm Ville.”  </p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p> </p><p>Motionless' set goes better than Ricky thought; they play well and the crowd seems involved, energetic, reactive. The whole building screams Chris' words right back at them, the singer's charisma always succeeding in drawing people in. </p><p>The level of adrenaline in Ricky's body is still high, and his hands shake as he takes the guitar off himself. The others are enthusiastic too: Vinny can't keep from shouting, then runs towards Balz and high fives him. Ricky can't help but smile at that. </p><p>“Hey,” Chris says, distracting him from his mates. “HIM plays in some minutes. Wanna come watch their set?” </p><p>Of course. Ricky almost forgets he has a <em> heartagram </em> tattoo as well. He smiles and nods, then follows him in the wings. </p><p>His heart gets trapped in his throat when he notices the other band waiting in the wings across the stage. In that moment, Ville's gaze meets his, and Ricky has to keep from shuddering. His reaction catches Chris' attention, who's now curiously observing the exchange of glances between the two and the smile Ville throws his friend's way right before starting to sing. </p><p>“You met Ville?” Chris asks, rather surprised. </p><p>“Just ran into him,” Ricky shrugs.  </p><p>“What's he like? I'm too nervous to talk to him, but I know I can't avoid him forever.” </p><p>“I feel that,” Ricky confesses. “He seems nice and cool. Kinda intimidating, though.”  </p><p>“That's understandable,” Chris says. “With a voice like that…” </p><p><em> Buried Alive by Love </em> ends, and Ville turns in Ricky's direction again right after singing the last note; this once Ricky smiles first, as the sound of the fans cheering fills the room. </p><p>“Gorgeous,” Ricky says, barely audible, not looking at Chris. The second songs starts. </p><p>“Yeah, I remember you telling me <em> Love Metal </em>was your favorite album.” </p><p>“No, I mean…” Ricky sighs. “Ville.” </p><p>Chris answers after a moment, and it's a mere “oh”. </p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p> </p><p>After the showers things get weird again. Ville showed up to Motionless' dressing room to compliment the band and introduce himself, since he hadn't before; he was nervous for the first show and he preferred not to talk to new people until it was over. Upon hearing these words, Ricky looks at Chris: he's just like that. Anxious and perfectionist. He's positive he can relate.  </p><p>Chris seems to be cooling off more and more. He was visibly nervous when Ville materialized in front of him, all green eyes and brown curls. The more he talks to him, the more he melts. </p><p>Then he tells Ville to please have a seat, pointing to the couch. </p><p>“Oh, I was about to go out for a smoke, actually,” Ville says. “Ricky, mind coming with me?” </p><p>Ricky's eyes widen and he tries hard not to let it show that his breath got caught in his throat. He can feel Chris' eyes on him, but he still looks at Ville. </p><p>“Sure,” he says eventually, sounding as casual as he manages. </p><p>He follows him outside.  </p><p> </p><p>It's cold outside, but it's that dry kind of cold that doesn't penetrate your bones. Ville didn't even bring a jacket with him; the American winter must be nothing to him, with his body used to freezing Finland. Ricky observes his own breath condensing a few inches from his face and intertwining with the smoke he exhales. </p><p>“I never heard you guys before. You may be a little too loud for my taste, but you're good.” </p><p>Ricky lowers his gaze, cheeks boiling hot. “Thank you.” </p><p>“Wanna tell me something about yourself?” </p><p>There's no way around it - Ricky can't calm down for the life of him. He takes a drag before starting to speak. </p><p>“I've been playing in the band for five years. I'm from Seattle. I moved to Pennsylvania when I met Chris.” </p><p>Ricky brings the cigarette back to his mouth. He can't think of other things to say - his life isn't that interesting, after all, and he has no clue of what Ville really wants to know. </p><p>“Are you nervous?” </p><p>Ricky sighs, and realizes his cigarette is down to the butt. </p><p>“A bit.” </p><p>“How so?” </p><p>Ville is making things hard. How is he supposed to answer without making a fool of himself? This is one of the many times he wishes he had Chris' talkativeness, even though his predominant desire at the moment would be running away. Or disappearing underground. Basically, freeing himself from Ville's grip, that seems to get tighter and tighter somehow. </p><p>“What do you want from me, Ville?”   </p><p>He isn't annoyed, nor hostile. He just wants to understand - why he knew his name when he first bumped into him, why he kept smiling at him while he was playing, why he asked him to tag along now. </p><p>Ville smiles, drops the filter to the ground and stomps it with his foot. He leans towards Ricky barely, so close to his face the latter can feel his warmth. </p><p>“You caught my attention. Thought the feeling could be mutual.” </p><p>Ricky steps back, but only realizes he's doing so when his back meets the wall. He's trapped. The cold cement behind him, Ville's warm presence before him. He can't separate anxiety from butterflies in his stomach, and the emeralds sitting where Ville's eyes are supposed to be seem to be scrutinizing deep inside of him - Ricky knows that, whatever he may say or do, Ville would know exactly what's going on inside of his head. He's vulnerable, exposed. There's no escaping.  </p><p>Ricky doesn't answer, but lets Ville touch his hair; he wraps a lock around his finger, then makes it run between his index and middle finger. </p><p>“That's the <em> heartagram </em> behind your ear,” Ville says, his deep voice a whisper. Ricky hoped he wouldn't notice. It's quite embarrassing. </p><p>Something about his body language must have conveyed this message to Ville, because he backs away at once. His smile is sweet, reassuring. Ricky is suddenly caught in a inner struggle - let his guard down? Lean into the singer's touch? Or just excuse himself, go back to his band, pretend nothing ever happened and never look Ville in the eyes again? </p><p>It's a matter of seconds. </p><p>“I've always liked you… <em> a lot </em>, Ville,” he confesses, heart a jackhammer in his sternum. Ville relaxes visibly, and an expression Ricky isn't sure he can decipher correctly forms on his face - amused, lustful, or both? </p><p>“Yeah?” Ville says, almost cancelling the distance between them. “So you'd let me kiss you right now?” </p><p>That voice can easily make Ricky shiver under any circumstance, but in <em> this </em> particular situation, the poor boy doesn't know if he can take it. Ville started touching his arms, barely brushing with his fingers through his clothes, and Ricky's already overwhelmed. </p><p>Ricky takes courage and raises his gaze to Ville's eyes, then nods. He can feel his breath on his lips for how close he is, and gulps when Ville's mouth meets his. </p><p>Never once in his life did Ricky think he'd find himself in Ville Valo's arms after a show in a cold December night. Cold yes, but not that kind of cold that penetrates your bones; cold yes, but sweetened by the warmth and gentleness of Ville's kiss, his full lips and his soft tongue and his strong, manly hands sitting tenderly on the sides of his neck.  </p><p>A weak moan escapes from Ricky's mouth, and Ville's lips curve in a smile against his. He was feeling dumb before; now he's absolutely positive Ville fried the few working braincells he had left. </p><p>(He will have to start thinking with some other organ. A random one.)  </p><p>When Ville breaks the kiss, Ricky doesn't want to let him go. Ville chuckles sweetly at Ricky's expression, probably looking disappointed. He kisses his lips one last time before burying his hands in his pockets and backing away. </p><p>“See you tomorrow, <em> sweetheart </em>.” </p><p>And he walks off to HIM's bus, not looking back once.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Ville told him he lives in a tower, Ricky thought he was joking - because that's how Ville is, he jokes around a lot, his irony not always distinguishable in his words. But Ricky <em> is </em> actually in a tower now, a tall tower, furnished in romantic style. From the top, you can see Helsinki in its entirety (and it's a rather small city, Ricky concludes). </p><p>Ville's bedroom is on the top floor, and it's quite small; an acoustic guitar sits on the parquet by the foot of the bed, a couple ashtrays on the nightstand and on the desk. Across the room, a door leads to the bathroom; and if the bedroom may look modest, this room is quite the contrary. It's huge, the bathroom fixtures a bright white. A mirror almost takes up an entire wall; red marble inlayed with gold makes up the walls. At the centre of the room, a spacious bathtub is nestled in marble, and that's where Ville goes, leaving a stunned Ricky by the doorway. He turns the water on and lets it run, then lights the candles sitting on the edge of the bathtub. The artificial light is soffused, and the little flames illuminate Ville's face leaning towards them for a short moment. </p><p>“I have the best ideas for my songs in this bathtub,” the singer says, taking his shirt off. “Come on in.” </p><p>Ricky takes courage and walks over to Ville at the center of the bathroom. He'd love to touch him and kiss him, but he clearly has other plans for now, as he turns the tap off and finishes undressing. </p><p>Ricky and Ville have never really found themselves in intimate situations before. The tour ended only yesterday, and it's quite difficult to be alone for more than ten minutes when you're travelling around the States with many other people. Secrecy was not an option. When Ville suggested he come to Helsinki with him rather than going back to Pennsylvania, Ricky couldn't say no had he wanted to. All he wished for was more time alone with Ville, to get to know him better without having to worry about people finding out. </p><p>However, now that he's completely naked in front of him, Ricky wants to die a bit. His beauty is disarming, not that he's surprised; Ricky's trying not to stare, but his eyes are just attracted to all the tattoos on his torso, to their appearance changing a little when Ville immerses himself into the water and relaxes with a sigh. </p><p>“I'd love to watch you write music,” Ricky says, sitting down on the edge of the tub, voice weak. </p><p>“Maybe another time,” Ville keeps his eyes closed. “I'm very tired. I guess you are too.” </p><p>They just came back from an intercontinental fifteen hour long flight, and the jetlag weighs down on Ricky's body and mind, but adrenaline keeps him wide awake and attentive. </p><p>“Can I help you relax?” </p><p>Ville doesn't open his eyes, but his lips curve into a smile. </p><p>“Touch me.” </p><p>Ricky's heart threatens to destroy his ribcage, and his hand trembles as he brings it to a lock of Ville's hair, a curl falling to the side of his face. He doesn't know the reason behind his own reaction. It sure isn't the first time he touches him; but everything feels more intimate, personal now, and the low lights cast shadows on Ville's frame, highlighting his features and making him look even more handsome. So maybe it's that. </p><p>Ville hums when Ricky's fingers go past their hesitation, tenderly massaging his hair, then his neck and shoulders. His damp skin is soft, and the sound of water is the only audible thing as Ville slightly moves inside the tub. </p><p>“You're gorgeous,” Ricky says, all his body suddenly ardent with desire. It's not enough anymore. His hands on Ville's skin are not enough anymore, the fact that the latter is bare, soaked, defenseless - as much as it's wonderful to contemplate, it isn't enough anymore. Ricky notices his own breathing getting heavier. </p><p>“Will you join me?” </p><p>Ricky is on his feet before his mind catches up. His hands shake - everything shakes as he takes his clothes off, and he has to put his hand on the edge of the tub not to fall. He fears his knees may give in. Ville delicately grabs the other hand and guides him inside the tub: the water is tepid, pleasant, and shivers run along his forearms. He lays down slowly, allowing his body to sink into the water inch after inch, as the back of his frame rests on top of Ville, who holds him tight. Ricky places his head on his chest and Ville's fingers brush against his shoulder and arm; the contact feels reassuring and Ricky finally feels comfortable enough to relax. It's not easy to relax around Ville: Ricky still struggles to consider him his equal. But now, naked and embraced in a tub, the walls he'd built around his heart are starting to fall. Vulnerability is scary, but the desire and attraction he feels for Ville make it worthwhile. Ricky sighs as he feels transported to another dimension, the other's heartbeat marking the rhythm of this ascension.    </p><p>Ville strokes his hair and Ricky leans in to the touch, bringing his nose upwards and inhaling the scent of his neck. It's inhebriating. At this point, Ricky is only vaguely aware of his actions as he brings his lips to that same spot on Ville's neck, kissing it tenderly. </p><p>Ville puts two fingers under his chin and brings him to his lips, mouth against mouth, hands in hair, hearts synchronized. </p><p>“You're sweet,” Ville whispers, pulling away just for a second. </p><p>“I like it here,” Ricky says. </p><p>“Then stay.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back on my bullshit. I guess it's gonna turn into a multi-chapter story MAYBE EVEN WITH A PLOT. Maybe, just maybe. For now, enjoy the fluff  <br/>Shout out to Cady for inspiring some elements in this!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Dude! I haven't heard from you in months!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ricky wasn't expecting a call. It's only Chris, but his heart is beating loudly in his chest nonetheless.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I have some explaining to do,” he sighs, voice small. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky contemplates Helsinki from the rooftop of Ville's tower, the midday sun shining pallidly on his face and on the city below him. The cool air caresses his face, messing with his hair just slightly.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember, like… Ville?” Ricky pinches the bridge of his nose with the hand that isn't holding the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do. Rick, what's up?” Chris is starting to sound impatient, maybe worried. The matter itself isn't that serious, but Ricky literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappeared</span>
  </em>
  <span> for months, his best friend oblivious he's even in Europe, oblivious to everything that's going on.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we…” he sighs again, “have a thing going on.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Ricky says, scratching the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you right now?” Chris asks, voice impassive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In Helsinki.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>In Helsinki</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Chris repeats. He doesn't sound particularly enthused. “And, you meant to tell me when exactly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chris, listen -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you listen. I'm happy for you and all, but the fact that you hid this from me for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span> is bullshit. I sent you the tracks I've been working on for the new record, and you never responded. We had meetings to talk about the next tour and you weren't there. I was seriously worried something had happened to you, man. We all were. All the while you were on the other side of the globe enjoying your idol's attention.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a shit move. I'm sorry,” Ricky's stare is lost in the distance, Chris' words barely registering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When are you coming back?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When are you coming back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky doesn't know. It actually never occurred to him that he had to, eventually, come back. The band needs him. People are wondering where he is. Fuck. Helsinki may feel like a dream, but real life is brutally waking him up now, and it feels as gentle as a blow to the head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figure it out,” Chris says, upon getting no answer. “Don't forget you have a life here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't forget you have a life here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course Ricky doesn't forget. He loves his band. He loves his job and his friends. A vague sense of guilt starts coiling deep in his chest, and it gets stronger by the second. He's been an asshole, he can come to terms with that; even his mother doesn't know where he is. As if he really just forgot everything and left it behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” a soft deep voice resonates in his ear, warm body behind him and two hands on his hips. “You alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky unclenches his jaw and closes his eyes, sending his head back almost imperceptibly against Ville's collarbone. The latter reaches one hand to touch Ricky's cheek, fingers tenderly tilting his head to the side, slightly upward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ville's kiss is sweet and slow like drops of honey. Ricky is momentarily dissociated from everything that's just happened, as if it was an old memory with no connection to the present.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when the kiss is broken, he readily remembers it all at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ville is looking at him expectantly. He sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chris called me… he didn't know I was here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn't tell him? Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I -,” Ricky turns around to face him, “I wanted it to be something between the two of us. Something… secret. Only ours. A kind of a safe place,” he explains. A hint of a sweet smile appears on Ville's lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They want me back in the US,” he adds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course they do,” Ville says, tucking a lock of Ricky's hair behind his ear. “You're cherished and loved there. You have a band you're essential for. They need you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I like it here. With you. You asked me to stay, the first night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn't mean it, like. In a kidnapping kind of way. You stayed here for three months and I enjoy your company dearly, but I don't wanna steal your life away from you. You have your own things to attend to, and I totally respect that,” Ville says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'd spend my every waking moment with you,” Ricky says, looking straight into Ville's eyes, to which he cups the side of his face, pad of his thumb moving lazily on Ricky's cheek. Ricky leans in to the touch, and they stay like this for a while. He then moves impossibly closer to Ville, who takes him in his arms and embraces him tightly. Ricky hides his face in his chest, inhaling his scent, the other's heart beating slowly, one hand in Ricky's hair and the other arm wrapped securely around his back.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably make the best of the rest of your stay here,” Ville says, his voice vibrating through his chest against Ricky's forehead. There's a hint of an amused smile in its sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky doesn't respond, just sticks one hand under Ville's shirt slowly, skin warm under his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let's go inside, shall we?”     </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Ricky came out of the bathroom, he expected to find Ville naked on the bed, anticipating and ready for him; but he finds him fully clothed with a guitar in his lap, and he's only one bit disappointed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” Ville tells him, and gestures to another guitar sitting on the floor. Ricky grabs it and  sits down on the bed, facing his lover. “Let's jam together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ville,” Ricky says, and the singer lifts his eyes to meet Ricky's, listening. “I'd love it if you sang to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ville snorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it's okay, it's very sweet actually. But, I want you to promise me something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to play guitar for me sometime. You've listened to me singing all your life. I only got to hear you play for a month on tour. I wanna hear more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky's cheeks are burning.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it's not the same thing,” he mumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just think you're very good. Maybe you can teach me something. Anyway,” Ville says, trying some chords. (Ricky wants to burst out laughing at his comment, but he knows better and keeps his mouth shut.) “What about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gone With the Sin</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You know that one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he fucking does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so - it probably gonna suck 'cause my voice ain't warmed up, but it, uh, it goes like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so he starts to sing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hairs on Ricky's arms stand on end the moment he hits the first note. Ville's voice is impossibly deep, impossibly warm, impossibly beautiful. Ricky feels it on his own skin, in his body - in his guts turning, in his heart warming up and getting lighter. It's just like the very first time, when he heard it on MTV in his mid-teens, when the melody captured him and he found himself listening to that voice in a trance-like state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trance-like state is what it feels like now as well, the only difference being that Ricky is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so aware </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the fact that Ville's singing </span>
  <em>
    <span>to him </span>
  </em>
  <span>now. For him, only. That voice, right now, belongs to him and him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky really can't wrap his head around it. Not only is Ville right there in front of him, singing to him, but he's also </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ville is right there with him </span>
  <em>
    <span>because he's his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They're lovers. Exclusive. There's sex. There's feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ville is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it's the realization hitting him hard, maybe it's the song that's just so beautiful, but a knot forms in the back of Ricky's throat and he almost starts to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>...So gone with the sin, my darling</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ville opens his eyes when the song ends; he puts the guitar aside immediately upon seeing Ricky's face, probably looking stunned, or lost, or - he has no idea what emotions he's feeling right now, actually. He only knows there's a lot of them. Ville crawls over to him, takes his face in his hands and kisses his forehead first, then his nose, finally his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, you okay?” Ville asks, voice a little hoarse but soft nonetheless. Ricky nods and smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for this,” he says quietly. “It made me feel special.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are,” Ville's voice is down to a whisper, Ricky can only hear it because he's so close; when Ville leans in farther, Ricky is forced to lay down on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kiss, Ricky's stomach full of butterflies and head light as a cloud. It's tender at first, but it grows more and more passionate by the minute until their hands have reached everywhere and they're both breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna make love to you so bad. In every possible way. I want you to know that no matter how far we are physically… I only have this with you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” is all Ricky has to say for Ville to grant his unspoken wish.     </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I haven't written anything in months so sorry if it's not that good. I had agreed to do a kinktober with some more common pairings and I've tried my best to come up with something for it but for some reason I can't seem to be able to write smut lately and I had to bail out of it. I'm trying to get back into the writing mood tho</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ricky sleeps for almost the entire flight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets off the plane, Chris is waiting for him just outside the airport. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's still mad. He doesn't have to speak for Ricky to notice. In fact, he doesn't speak at all. Just grabs Ricky's baggage and puts it in the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chris, I -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't,” Chris says, hand in the air. “I don't wanna hear you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky sinks in his seat and turns his head to the window. Chris doesn't even have to drive far for everything to look pretty American, too American. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Ricky says when they get to his house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't forget we have a meeting tomorrow,” Chris says, eyes fixed on the road before him. Then he drives off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky sighs and takes his trolley suitcase inside. With the lights still off and the curtains still closed, he sits down on his couch and switches his phone on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He silently wishes for a text from Ville. He misses him. He wonders what he's doing. For some reason it's all he cares about at the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The text comes. Ricky's heartbeat accelerates as he opens it right away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hope you had a safe flight. Miss you” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky smiles. </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the meeting, hardly anyone addresses him. When they do, it's only a nod. Throughout the whole thing Ricky barely knows what's being discussed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Vinny asks him if he's alright, he says he's just tired. Chris' eyes burn through his skin, but Ricky ignores it, and doesn't speak again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other guys want to grab something to eat after it's over. Ricky says he's not hungry and he'd rather go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that's what he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the lights still off and the curtains still closed, Ricky grabs his phone and calls Ville. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” he answers after two rings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ville!” Ricky says. “I just… wanted to hear you. How are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's so nice to hear your voice, darling,” Ville says. “I'm fine. Just trying to write some music. What about you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm fine… just, I miss you terribly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do I, sweetheart. Have you seen your friends yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Ricky scratches the back of his head. “Our band had a meeting earlier today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New tour?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a light guitar sound on the other line. Ville must be absentmindedly plucking the strings as he talks to him; Ricky can picture it vividly. He's most likely sitting on his bed, shirtless, acoustic guitar in his lap, cigarette between his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss your hands,” Ricky says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your hands. I can hear you strumming right now. It made me think about your hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, baby,” Ville says. “I miss touching you so bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate that I'm here now. I just wanna be with you. I don't wanna be here. Chris forced me to come back but I don't wanna be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky doesn't hear anything for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanted me to stay,” he adds, voice weaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, you know you -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just -” Ricky cuts him off, but he doesn't really know what to say. Ville sighs as he tries to find the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We talked about it before. You have your responsibilities and your life over there. I don't want you to throw it away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Ricky feels like Ville doesn't really understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says nonetheless. “You're right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We'll meet again soon,” Ville says. “I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don't forget me,” Ricky says before he can even think it through.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My darling,” Ville's deep voice sounds like a connection. He knows he's there when he hears it. Ricky never wants to hang up, he just wishes Ville would keep talking. “Of course I won't forget you. How could I? You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go now,” Ville adds. “Someone from the record company is calling. Talk to you soon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Ricky says after a minute, trying to conceal his own disappointment. “Bye, baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, darling.” Ville hangs up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky looks at the screen of his phone with aching eyes, until it goes dark like Ricky's living room.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is turning into something much more darker than originally intended I'm so sorry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Haunting. </p><p>Haunting is the word Chris would use to describe Ricky's presence nowadays. He feels like a ghost in the way he's both here and he's not - and the ambivalence of it can't be ignored, it's heavy. It demands to be felt, demands a reaction out them, out of Chris. Ricky's here with his body only; with his eyes constantly lost and his silence, he barely seems alive. </p><p>Chris had tried to talk some sense into him. He got angry at him, yelled at him - but only got more frustrated in return. Ricky's walls are insurmountable and Chris isn't sure how much longer he can tolerate this. </p><p>Not that he isn't worried about him. </p><p>He just wants his best friend back. </p><p>Every day is the same: every day the band meets in the studio at ten a.m. after a quick coffee and gets to work. They all work, even Ricky tries to - but he's so uninspired, so distracted that it's painful to watch. Ryan shows him new riff ideas and he tries to play along, comments sometimes - that's all he does - and Chris would be extraordinarily mad hadn't he noticed how much of a struggle even those basic tasks are for him. </p><p>Every day is the same so when Chris gets out of the car he's just parked near the studio, he isn't exactly looking forward to seeing his friend. He can't exactly say he can't wait to feel the heaviness of his absent presence - or present absence -, to feel helpless when he loses his patience and those big blue eyes look back at him saying nothing. Maybe that's the problem - his eyes don't speak, though they always have; ever since Chris met Ricky his eyes have been eloquent and expressive and brilliant. Now they aren't and just like the rest of him, Ricky's eyes are quiet - they just stare back at him and their silence forces Chris to shut up too. </p><p>Every day is the same so when Chris gets inside the studio - he's always the first to get there -, when he's setting up the gear and someone - Ricky - opens the door and says hi, Chris stiffens a little. He says hi back, of course, because there's no reason to be rude. He says hi back but he stiffens because along with Ricky, many emotions and thoughts enter the room and enter Chris' body and soul. Anger and compassion and annoyance and love and the wish for him to be okay and the wish to punch him in the face. And probably much more. Which is a little too much for Chris to handle, so he just ends up stiffening. </p><p>But something's different today. In his stiffened state, while his muscles are tense and his breathing is shallow, Chris notices Ricky looks less pale and less creepy and less heavy. He sits down with a guitar in his lap. </p><p>“So, Chris, I came up with this,” he says, eyes on his fretting hand as he starts playing a riff. “I thought we could use it for the song we were working on yesterday.” </p><p>The riff's actually pretty good. Chris doesn't say anything for a moment, still stiff, still tense. </p><p>“It doesn't convince you does it?” Ricky says, breaking the silence. </p><p>No, it doesn't convince Chris at all. Why the sudden change? Why today? Why is he <em> back </em> as if nothing happened? </p><p>“I say let's keep it, maybe it doesn't fit the particular song, but we could use it for something else… unless you totally hate it, that is,” Ricky says, smiles and returns the attention to his instrument. </p><p>Maybe he just snapped out of it like Chris had hoped for weeks now. </p><p>“I have a couple more things to show you, though I need Ryan's opinion on them too,” Ricky says. Vinny walks in and greets them. </p><p>Maybe he's over it. </p><p>Yet somehow the weight on Chris' chest is growing bigger.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes it's a heavy melancholy. Your heart tightens and the tears sting and hope almost feels like a wrongdoing. What good is hope for, anyway? To delude yourself and then be disappointed? It's a waste of energies and time, something naive and cringey. </p><p>Hope might spring eternal but we sure as hell don't.  </p><p>Hope is a luxury, actually. Telling yourself “okay, now it's like this, but it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be alright in the end” and then it's ten years later, you look back and see everything's still the same or worse, even. You're just fooling yourself, aren't you? It's an insult to your intuition, because deep down, you already know. They say you can't have control over life events, that thinking you have it is pretentious; well, Ricky says it's pretentious to believe you're entitled the illusion, the hallucination, the psychosis - when you go to your therapist and tell them you see things that aren't actually there and you tell them you talk to God they'll give you Abilify, but when you tell them it's gonna be alright and you're gonna be fine and that there's no need to worry about it then no, they won't give you Abilify, because that's healthy, you're healthy. </p><p>Ricky says you chose to split reality from what you wish was true. </p><p>In ten years you're gonna look back and you're gonna tell yourself you were stupid and naive. You're gonna tell yourself that you wasted ten years on nothing, that you let yourself have a luxury you couldn't really afford. </p><p>Defend yourself first. It's better that way - otherwise you'll end up with that heavy melancholy in your chest that tastes like loss. That same melancholy telling you you're stupid and naive and that you wasted time. </p><p>It's not a good feeling. </p><p>Don't hope. </p><p>Take charge of the situation. Do something. Few things give you such a satisfying sense of competence like having control over life and destiny. You can have it, you know. Just trust your instinct and know nothing in this world is free. Work for what you want. </p><p>Don't hope and, for the love of God, don't trust others. </p><p>Cus other people hope and you can't leave your life at the mercy of hope, let alone someone else's hope. </p><p>Ever since Ricky got to these conclusions, there's been an energy in him he couldn't even dream of before. It's empowering, making him active, focused. </p><p>Finally he knows what to do. </p><p>If he can't have Ville here with him, because life got in the way, because no one understands (even Ville), if he can't let himself go with the flow of events because it'd mean giving up to the fact that over there, far way, in Finland, Ville will forget about him, then it's up to him to do something. Prevent it. </p><p>One way or another. </p><p>It's not that he doesn't believe Ville's honesty when he tells him he won't forget him. But he can't be sure it won't happen; after all, he <em>hopes </em>he won't forget him. Hope is implicit here. He wishes he will remember him. There must be a reason why he asked him to stay, right? Of course, Ricky can't leave the burden of it all to him, can't wash his hands of it, but mostly, he can't live with the anxiety that he will find someone else over there, far away, and throw the memory of him out the window. </p><p>Christ, Ricky gags at the mere thought of it. He can't let it happen. It's <em>him </em>who's lusted after Ville for years, <em>him </em>who'd do anything for him, <em>him </em>who dies at the mere thought of losing him. </p><p>It's Ricky's right to have him. </p><p>
  <em>Ville, my love, have no fear; we'll be together forever, and with me, there's no need to hope. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Our hope is already a reality. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title is a HIM song </p><p>xnowimnothing.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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